Page 82 of Lemon Crush

“We’ll fit, August.”

“I know,” I lied, breathlessly pretending I didn’t just say all that out loud. Again. “I was building up your confidence.”

It didn’t need building up, I thought a little hysterically. His confidence was impressive and thick and aiming in my direction like a pornographic heat-seeking missile.

His lips curved and he bent to rifle through his jeans while I lifted my head to keep that sex spear in view. If he was going to ruin my vagina for all other men, I needed to remember every detail. “What are you doing?”

“Condom.” He dropped several on the bed beside me before slowly stalking to the end of the mattress, gripping my calves and dragging me closer. “We’ll need more later.”

I was glad he’d thought about it. I was still taking pills, but it had been so long it hadn’t even crossed my mind to stock up on any—“Wade!”

My legs were over his shoulders and his face was between my thighs before I’d realized what he was planning.

“What are you doing?” I moaned, my neck arching on the bed as his tongue started doing things I didn’t know were possible for that appendage.

Talk about a secret superpower. I was willing to bet his tongue could tie all the cherry stems at the bar into pretty little bows withease. Holy bananas. My plans for tonight had revolved around exploringhisbody and makinghimbeg for a change. I wasn’t expecting this at all.

Honesty pool confessional time: I’d never been a fan of this particular act. I hadn’t added a scene like this into my book because, in my experience, oral was routinely transactional, often performative, and always made me too self-conscious to enjoy it. It was rarely offered, so I never felt like I could refuse it, but I was never able to relax and enjoy it either. I’m ashamed to say I’d usually faked my excitement, thinking it was the least I could do if my partner was going to the trouble of acting like he enjoyed something that wasn’t about his climax.

I wasn’t faking anything this time, and Wade Hudson wasnotacting. I didn’t even have to see him to know it. I could feel it in the hungry seeking of his mouth and the convulsive squeezing of his fingers on my hips, hear it in his deep panting breaths and growls of approval. He was practically shaking with an excitement that sent mine spiraling.

You’ve been with the wrong men all your life.

That was more glaringly apparent by the second, because if I’d thought Wade’s hands were talented, they had nothing on his mouth and tongue. I tried to pay attention to every stroke, swirl, flutter and thrust, but all I could do was feel and react, clutching at the quilt and making noises I would have been mildly mortified by if he weren’t so thrilled by them. He worked harder with every guttural grunt and banshee wail that escaped my throat, making my body buck and writhe on the bed while my mind struggled to retain a single thread of control. I was already too close to coming and I still hadn’t gotten my hands on him.

“Wade,” I finally managed to whimper. “You promised.”

He lifted his mouth, lips shining and eyes bright with hunger. “We’re not leaving this bed until I come inside you, August. Thatdoesn’t mean I can’t make you come as many times as I want to before then.”

“There you go being perfect again,” I mumbled under my breath as he went back to work.

He didn’t apologize or stop what he was doing. Instead, he got more creative, adding a finger while moaning against my clit, making it vibrate to the key ofholy shitthis orgasm might actually kill me.

What a way to go.

I was shouting incoherently, my back bending hard enough to crack, my hands tearing at his thick hair because that was the only part of him I could reach. But he refused to be rushed, his tongue and finger so deep I could feel my muscles clenching painfully around them as I came.

And came.

And came some more.

“Fuck,” he groaned, sliding his wet lips over my thighs, his fingers still pumping through my spasms. “Fuck, August, that’s beautiful. Take what you need, baby. I’m drowning in your taste, but I want more. I could do this all night.”

“No, you can’t,” I panted, regaining consciousness enough to tug on his hair and thump his back with my heel for emphasis. “Up. Now.”

“Is it your turn to play boss now?”

If I could have formed a complete sentence, I’d have tossed out a suitably sultry comeback. Right now, however, I needed him on me. Needed him to hold me down on the bed so I didn’t shatter and float away.

His lips followed a damp, sensual trail from the curve of my stomach to my ribs as he slowly complied. When the firm weight of his chest against my breasts finally anchored me, I exhaled in relief and opened my eyes.

“Hey you.”

“Hey back.”

His smile was genuine but unnaturally tight, his cheeks flushed dark with arousal.

I might have been floating in a satisfied haze, but I knew that he was trying to reel himself in again. Giving me time to recover. Holding back in case I’d changed my mind now that he’d given me my daily O.

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